


Incredible

by ScrawnyTreeDemon



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Father-Son Relationship, Quirrel just wants to hug and protect Ghost is that too much to ask?, Suicidal Thoughts, they're not that big of a focus but I'm warning ya, you know for the pit of dead children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrawnyTreeDemon/pseuds/ScrawnyTreeDemon
Summary: Quirrel delays his final rest to be with his little friend one last time; however what was initially a quick scamper becomes a winding chase throughout all of Hallownest, ending at a foreboding doorway into a shrouded land.Got the idea from space-nerd-sam on Tumblr mentioning they'd read a fic of this in the tags of some art of Quirrel holding an injured Ghost, and so of course I realised I would too-- Cue me writing at 1am, falling asleep and finishing it the next day.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	Incredible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpaceNerdSam29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceNerdSam29/gifts).



Quirrel sat by the water's edge, calm as he'd ever been. This, this was a good place to rest. With the Madam's flame snuffed, and her mask gone with her, his work was done. It was... odd, not feeling anything upon his helm. Even now, he reached for it out of habit, only to still himself when his fingers met the cloth of his shawl.

His nail was planted beside him. It'd served him well in life, the Madam's final gift. And now, it would serve as a fine marker for-

The tell-tale tap of the stone met his ear. He smiled. He'd come to know these little footsteps quite well- How lovely to hear them one last time.

"Again we meet, my short friend. Here at last, I feel at peace." His voice came out raw and wheezy, like a rusting machine on the brink of collapse.

They stood as still as ever, cloak softly billowing. Why, how stoic for one so small! They looked as if they'd braved all the horrors that befell such mighty warriors of legend... And yet they looked but a child.

"Twice I've seen this world, and though my service may have stripped the first experience from me, I am thankful to witness its beauty again." The wind howled in his companion's silence. He'd never heard them speak a word, nor seen them even gesture; they simply stood, and looked.

And it was the look that intrigued him.

"Hallownest is a vast and wondrous thing, but in as many wonders as it holds," His eyes gazed into theirs. There was something nameless in them. "I've never seen one quite so intriguing as you."

Silence.

"Ha. My flattery only returns silent stoicism. I like that."

He laughed, and for a moment felt young again. He cocked his head playfully, grinning beneath his mask.

"I like that very much."

He looked out onto the lake; onto his final resting place.

"...Incredible..."

He closed his eyes, basking in the wind's gentle caress, savouring every breath. It wouldn't be long now. Something settled beside him; no doubt the little knight. He didn't look at them. That would only fill him with sorrow, knowing they'd never meet again. What would they do, after… after he sealed his fate? Would they wander the vast halls for him? Would they grieve? Would they go on as ever, unfeeling, unchanged? The last one would be ideal, he supposed...

A tiny hand fell upon his. Cold. Cold and soft, but not of the softness of flesh.

Well, that solved it. Indeed, the knight felt, and it felt for him. He choked back a sob. What a small, small thing- Had it ever been held? Surely, surely it must've? No one could've left them unloved in such a cruel, if beautiful world? Should he hold it like his own, or would that feed into the grief to come? He tensed.

Hesitantly, they pulled away. Quirrel stared off into the distance. They got up, and those little feet padded down the stone, sure as ever, growing fainter and fainter.

And here he was, alone.

All alone.

He peered toward the exit. Say, would it hurt to wander after them?

* * *

And wander he did, for hours on end. In all that time, he'd only seen flashes of them; through the leaves, through the rain, through the translucent medusa of an Ooma. Each time he'd made to call out, they were off before he could get a word out, dashing down another winding hallway.

The journey took him deeper and deeper into Hallownest's bowels. With every strike his arm ached; every jump his legs weak; every sprint breathless. Time was finally taking its toll, wasn't it? Taking back what he owed: this great debt he'd shaken so carelessly out in the wilds, where he could run freely with his arms outstretched, as if embracing this little time he had.

Quirrel hopped down into the Ancient Basin, exhausted. He clutched his head as it spun wildly, vision blurred. A sharp pain stabbed his temples like a nail, nearly drawing out a cry. But Quirrel didn't cry, he didn't yelp; who knew what lurked down here? He looked around, and came upon the little knight at long last- at the edge of a pit.

"Wait!" He called, but again he was too late, too slow as the nimble figure leapt into the depths.

And without thought nor fear, Quirrel dove after them.

When he made it to the bottom of the winding pit, he found a doorway, wide open, leading out onto a ledge; a balcony of sorts. As he stepped out onto it, darkness enveloped him. Darkness that danced like water, only kept at bay by the light of his lantern. From far down, someone hopping from ledge to ledge could be heard.

"Hello?"

The only reply was his own voice, echoing throughout the vast, eerie cavern. As he made his way down, deeper and deeper, a horrific view defiled his eyes. Were those…? No... no, they couldn't be! The darkness surely must be playing tricks on him, if he made his way down surely it'd turn out nothing more than a rocky floor, just like all the other rocky floors in this Kingdom. And yet once, twice even, he was met with a skull so familiar he had to look twice to make sure it wasn't his friend.

Soon, he came to the ground.

They were not rocks. _They were not rocks._

The only floor that met his feet were skulls, _children's skulls._ Hundreds of them- Nay, thousands, and all looking just like his little friend. He stepped forward, and felt his foot go lower than usual. He'd stepped into a hollowed-out socket. He shrieked, snatching his foot out. Immediately, dozens of white, glowing eyes were upon him. Quirrel's breath hitched. He snagged his nail, and assumed a fighting stance; though that proved difficult, on such uneven terrain.

He had to find the knight. There was no good reason a child, no matter how skilled with a nail, should look upon the shattered corpses of its... kin? Is that what they were?

Some yards away, a white light could be seen. Quirrel scrambled into the dark. He was thankful for the Lumafly lantern he'd bought back when he began his quest- If he'd known where it'd take him, maybe he'd never come at all. The ground snapped sickeningly with every step, shells cracking when he stepped on their fissures. He tried not to look. Tried not to think.

He came upon a glowing pit- No doubt where the little knight had gone... Should he turn back? They hadn't responded once to his calls, not even a passing glance. Maybe they hadn't heard him, but he doubted that. Maybe they wanted to do this alone, but they were a child, and he could never forgive himself if something happened. He hopped down.

_More bones._

It... It was so cramped! He couldn't stand. His hands and knees dug into the spaces between the skulls, from which underneath lay only more skulls. The walls, the walls were made of them. He slid down a narrow pit. It was like he was a chimney sweep once more, forced into a stony crevice that scratched every side, where he couldn't even move his limbs. And again, he wondered if he should turn back- Nay, his friend was still down there.

When he slid out of the tunnel, he gasped for air. Never again, he hoped, to find himself in such a place. Onwards he went.

This damned labyrinth was littered with spikes; and though his shell was hard, he knew his friend's was not. He'd seen all too well how every hit wrecked their delicate frame. The thought sickened him. As tight as the passages were, he managed to jump onto the ledges. The spikes scraped against his shell, when he was once again forced to go on all fours. It was uncomfortable, but not painful.

And then he came upon a spire made of a slick, black substance. He sliced at it, but it did little. And so, after a moment of contemplation and against his better judgement, he touched it. It threw him back, but for a moment he felt that same coldness that'd touched his hand on the shore.

He jabbed his hand in again, resisting the cold grip desperately trying to throw him back. He threw himself at it, pushing against the barrier with all his might. And then it began to burn. He gritted his jaw, grunting. He had to make it through, there was no going back! The fluid enveloped him, choking him. He couldn't see! He couldn't breath! Cold, horrendous, biting cold on all sides.

And with a final push, it threw him out the other side.

He was gasping. He could breathe.

And for a moment, he lay there, another face among the thousands that made up the cavern. Never had he been so glad to feel air fill his lungs. Was that what drowning felt like? Why, not to this extent, surely! And yet the thought of being submerged, unable to breath, struck him as torturous. If he was going to find peace, it'd have to be elsewhere.

And then he heard a roar.

He shot up, and listened. It came just down that tunnel- And another! And another after that, and- By the King, was his friend being attacked?!

He stumbled frantically in a half-crouch down the tunnel, whereupon he met the exit. There, next to a black, cracked orb lay the knight, hounded by dark, horned figures- they looked something out of a nightmare. Quirrel drew his blade, and struck the one nearest. Their eyes were on him, white with fury. They swarmed him- With every blow he dealt, another was dealt back. He shot one down and the rest besieged him; pulling him, swatting him, choking him. One made to stick its tendrils into his eyes. He yanked his arm free and smote it.

It cried out, before dissipating. Slowly but surely, he whittled down the horde, til not one remained. As he struck the last one, he fell to his knees. This should've taken a minute at best, had he been deft and spritely. But his body was failing him, it didn't want to go much further. 

And yet, as he looked to his small companion, lying there with black steam rising from their body, he knew he would push it as far as he could for them.

But now was not the time for that. Now was the time for rest. He crept over, and lay beside them. He hoisted them into his arms, cradling them. He stroked their little face, wiping away the black ooze. Their cold little hand clasped his finger. He choked back a sob.

"Please hold on, small one. We'll make it out of here, I promise-"

They reached for the rim of his mask. He laughed softly.

"You want me to take it off?"

The knight only nudged further.

"As you wish, little knight."

He lay his mask down beside him. He couldn't remember when he'd had it off last; honestly, he felt a bit exposed. But that mattered little. The knight looked on with empty eyes, and Quirrel wondered if they'd ever seen a bug like him unmasked. As he smiled, their hand wandered to his mouth, curious. He chuckled, and gave it a little nibble. They drew back in surprise.

"Never been nibbled before?" The knight tilted their head. Quirrel cooed sympathetically. "Surely, your mother must have? Did she not clean you?"

The knight merely looked to the orb.

"Oh."

They propped themselves up, and wrapped their arms around his neck. They butted their head affectionately against his. He nudged back, closing his eyes and sighing. How could anyone abandon a baby like this, let alone in such a desolate place? At least his own mother left him at the orphanage.

He nibbled the top of their head affectionately. They leaned into it, their body slackening. He caressed their cheek, brushing his thumb over the bone again and again. He scratched their tiny back, again, and again, and again.

And then, he felt the strangest thing: the gentle rising and falling of their tiny chest, as they fell fast asleep.

Incredible. They were incredible.

And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would do anything for them.

* * *

When they awoke, the knight found themselves on the lower bunk of a bed. Somebody was snoring loudly above them. They'd been rudely awakened a fair few times, usually when Quirrel would trip, or when an Aspid flew by, or when Zote wouldn't shut his foul mouth at three in the morning.

They looked around, and found they were behind the counter of Cornifer and Iselda’s map shop. That explained the snoring. Iselda was at the desk, as usual, mulling over the merchandise. However, in a chair next to them slumped Quirrel, in deep sleep. He looked awful; his shell and mask were scratched; his body dusted with Void residue; and more than anything, he looked weary beyond belief.

The knight slid off the bed, quilt in tow. Iselda turned to look at them.

“Finally awake, I see. Your friend brought you back half-asleep- heard him yelling at Zote to keep it down, can’t say I disagree,” 

She looked back to her pins. The knight draped the quilt over Quirrel, and sat beside him. 

“Only have one spare blanket here, and despite looking, well, how he looks, he insisted you have it.” She cocked her head, brows furrowed. “Sorry if this is a bit nosy, but by any chance are you two related?”

They shook their head firmly. Underneath his mask- both of their masks, in a sense- they were nothing alike.

“Ahh, okay.” Her brush swept slowly over the pin. 

The knight stood up, nail in hand, and made for the door. Quirrel shouldn’t have come with them. This was their quest and theirs alone, and anyone else poking their antennae into this threatened it. There was no place for “hugs”, “nibbles,” or heartfelt goodbyes-- Not in any of this. 

“What’s the rush? You can stay as long as you want, you know?” Iselda’s voice was filled with concern.

They hesitated. Would it really hurt to stay, if for a minute longer?

But this was no place for heartfelt goodbyes. Not when Hallownest’s bloated corpse was rotting from the inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: Earwig mothers clean their eggs by nibbling them! And, so of course I made that the bug-equivalent of kissing, because I'm soft as shit. 
> 
> And also imaging HK characters with lips horrifies me.
> 
> For anyone interested in the art that inspired this, here's the link: https://scrawnytreedemon.tumblr.com/post/619996911920873472/made-up-the-story-for-this-as-i-went-along-but  
> Looking back, it's a bit janky-- the pose especially, as I went in without a plan, but I suppose if it spiralled into this then it's good enough.


End file.
